


Pleased To Meet You (Take My Hand)

by Totoffle



Category: Take That
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:39:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Totoffle/pseuds/Totoffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After meeting at an airport, budding pianist/singer-songwriter Gary and the mysteriously well-off Mark travel from Manchester to London, so that Gary can get to an audition and Mark can get home. As they battle against snow, cancelled trains and cars that don't work as well as they should, and meet three of Mark's friends who are scattered across the country, Gary starts to think that he might be falling for Mark’s charms, but there are a few things he doesn't know about him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pleased To Meet You (Take My Hand)

**Author's Note:**

> This originally started life as something of a _Planes, Trains and Automobiles_ parody, and turned into something much less farcical (although still pretty ridiculous at times). A big thank you to everyone who encouraged me through the many meltdowns I had writing this, and to nevermind68 for providing such beautiful art!
> 
> EDIT: Unfortunately, the art is no longer being hosted on Photobucket, so I've removed the links. Thank you again to nevermind68 for creating it!
> 
> EDIT 2: AND I JUST NOTICED A HIDEOUS MISTAKE IN THE VERY FIRST LINE. THIS HAS BEEN CHANGED AND I WILL NOW GO AND CRY IN A CORNER. (Yeah, I don't like this one so much.)

**Thursday, December 6th, 1990**  
 **22:15**  
The irritatingly chirpy woman on the phone had promised if he came to this counter at least an hour before the plane departed, he would get on the flight from Manchester to London tonight.

After following her instructions to the letter, Gary has spent the last ten minutes getting increasingly irate with the poor girl behind the reservations desk. He needs to get cross with someone and she's an easy target, despite it not being her fault.

"I was told two hours ago that there'd be a seat available because the flight isn't full yet! Sally, or whatever her name was, said the short notice didn't matter!"

The assistant continues tapping at her keyboard, trying to get this crazy bloke away from her counter as swiftly as she can. "I'm so sorry Sir, there just aren't any seats left in economy! Let me call my supervisor..."

She scuttles away to beg someone senior to come and help her. Whilst he waits for her return, Gary notices a young man, similar age to him, approach the next counter. His clothes are immaculate, a long black coat with the buttons undone, revealing a dark shirt and black trousers underneath. His entire outfit looks as if it cost more than the three keyboards in Gary's bedroom put together.

There's something about his soft face and styled hair which, under normal circumstances, would've led to Gary trying to chat him up. If only he wasn't so furious with everything...

The man leans over to shake hands with the assistant, who he's obviously on friendly terms with.

"Evening Carl!" He's got a Northern accent – hailing from somewhere Gary can't quite place. (Manchester? Lancashire? Somewhere like that.) "God, I'm bloody freezing! Glad I got these gloves the other day, I can tell you. I hope the snow isn't going to be this heavy in London," he says, opening his wallet. From what Gary can see he's got five credit cards in there, and he takes one out and puts it on the desk.

Carl takes the card and swipes it through a machine. "It's meant to later on tonight, if it isn't already. First or business class?"

"First, please. Where did you hear that?"

"On the radio. Mind you, that was at lunchtime, it might've changed since then. All done - Row A, Seat two. Are you going down for long, Mark?"

"A few days this time. Checking in, you know. Hey, how's your sister doing?"

Gary doesn't get to find out how Carl's sister is, because the supervisor – Brian, according to his name badge – arrives. Straight away he's full of so many simpering platitudes that Gary honestly considers punching him in the middle of his condescending face. His offers of alternative arrangements go unheard.

"Look," Gary says, making every attempt to keep his voice reasonable and calm. His Mum raised him better than to lose his temper when things aren't going his way. "I don't want any special treatment. I want a seat on this bloody plane so I can get to my interview by tomorrow afternoon! Is it really that difficult?"

At this, Brian sighs sympathetically and shakes his head. Gary wants to do a fair bit more shaking. "I understand, and again, I'm truly sorry for the distress Mr. Barlow. When you spoke to my colleague on the phone, she shouldn't have assured you there would be a seat. I can offer to sell you a first or business class ticket, but I'm afraid I don't have any economy seats left on this flight."

"Economy is all I can afford!"

"All I can do is offer my sincerest apologies, Mr. Barlow..."

"I don't want any more of your apologies. I want... Oh, fuck it."

He slumps forwards, resting his forehead against the counter. When Brian retries offering flights for the next morning, train tickets and hotel rooms, Gary holds his hand aloft in dismissal. 

"No, thank you," Gary says, muffled into the plastic. He straightens up and smiles meekly at the two employees of British Airways, who have only been doing what they're paid to do. "I'm sorry I was awful to both of you. My parents gave me the money for the flights as an early Christmas present, and I wanted to get this job so that I could... well, I wanted to get this job. Never mind, eh? There's always next time."

Just as Gary is considering ringing his Dad and asking if he can come and pick him up, the well-dressed man – _Mark_ , he remembers – speaks up.

"Would it be possible to book Mr. Barlow on the flight in first class on my account, Carl?"

Before Gary can utter a single word, Carl starts to check his computer. "Yep, there's plenty of seats left."

Mark nods. "Put it on the account, then."

Stunned, Gary tries to protest. "No, you can't do that!" He goes over to the desk to argue. "I can't let you do that!"

Mark insists. He won't take the money that Gary offers him, saying he can use it to buy something nice on the plane.

* * *

  


**23:30**  
"I can't thank you enough for this, Mark."

"It's my pleasure."

"I'd pay you back this minute if I hadn't spent my savings on a new keyboard last week... Damn. Give me your address and I'll send you the money the moment I can, honestly."

"Gary, no. I mean it, it's not a problem."

Gary sits back in his seat and frets for a minute. Certainly he appreciates the gesture, but he's always been hesitant when it comes to owing people things, money in particular. He's tense, and it's not helped by the strange feeling he has regarding Mark. There's definitely something peculiar about him, and he wishes he could figure out what it is.

It's more likely he's being paranoid. Mark hasn't done anything to warrant suspicion; he's been kind to a total stranger for no apparent reason. It isn't as if he can't afford it: from what Gary can tell, Mark is in no way deprived of income. In fact, Gary has never seen anybody as beautifully turned out in his life. After a quick look down at his faded jeans, Gary feels underdressed, although he knows that's daft. 

Still, he wishes he could nip to the loo and change into the suit and tie he has in his bag to smarten himself up. His Mum had washed it specially, painstakingly ironing creases into the trousers, and sewing all of the buttons on so tight that he'd had trouble doing them up when she'd made him try it on for the hundredth time.

She'd be mortified if she saw the state of him – scruffily dressed next to somebody so elegant. There's not much Gary can do to resolve the issue. It's not as if he can get up and announce he's got to get changed because it's what his mother would want. That would doubtless come across as rather odd.

"Whereabouts is your interview, by the way?" Mark asks brightly, bringing Gary back to reality. "I'm living in London at the moment, I might know where you're heading." He tears a piece out of his bread roll and pops it into his mouth.

"It's at a place called Lotus."

Mark starts to choke on his bread. Gary thumps him on the back as hard as he dares.

"Lotus?!" Mark asks, once he's recovered. His voice is no more than a squeak and his eyes are streaming. He clears his throat a couple of times. "Please tell me you mean the car company?"

"No, it's a club near Leicester Square... Why, do you know it?"

Mark nods taking a sip of his water. "Yeah," he says, "I do. I, er, used to work there. Dancing and stuff."

Gary can picture him as a dancer. Mark is the right size, the right shape, with one of those faces you can't help fall in love with. Gary dismisses the notion that he's started to do exactly that as ridiculously childish. 

_It's not possible,_ he thinks, _to fall in love with someone after knowing them for an hour._

Mark interrupts his thoughts for a second time to ask if he dances too, and Gary laughs heartily before telling him no, he doesn't. Apart from the odd bit of upper-body jigging about behind the keyboard when he gets really into it, he prefers to keep his bum firmly in his chair.

"Ah, so it's more of an audition than an interview?" Mark asks, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face.

Gary shrugs. "I suppose. If you call it an interview it sounds more important, doesn't it? _Audition_ tends to make people assume I'm a layabout who thinks he's too good for the dole queue." He sighs, perhaps too theatrical in his anguish. "I don't think that, in case you wondered. I like making music, and getting money to do something I enjoy, and am relatively good at, seemed to be a sensible way to pay my way."

"No, that makes sense," Mark says. "If I had a talent like that, I'd put it to good use." He smiles broadly, showing his (of course) perfect teeth. "I'm sure you'll be great."

_Maybe it is possible, after all..._

The last time Gary had met someone like Mark... Actually, he can't remember ever meeting someone like Mark. The last time he'd met someone who made him feel even halfway like this, he'd been hideously drunk at a friend-of-a-friend's birthday party, and he didn't really remember much about her. 

No, _him_. Definitely a _him_.

And that had been a total disaster in any case. The guy had given him the most awful, patronising look as if to say, _yeah right!_ , and Gary had spent the remainder of the evening trying not to throw up over everything, and sleeping in the bath.

This is different. Mark is different. He's kind and funny, and there's a gentleness about him, in his eyes and his voice, that sets him apart from everyone else. Gary finds himself drawn in, longing to know as much about him as possible.

As it turns out, he doesn't get to do that. They've been flying for fifteen minutes when the pilot's voice crackles through the cabin's speakers. He sounds stressed. 

He's nowhere near as stressed as Gary when it's announced that, because of the worsening weather, the plane will be forced to land at the East Midlands Airport.

He doesn't get the chance to buy Mark something nice from the duty-free trolley.

* * *

  
**Friday, December 7th, 1990**  
**00:05**  
Gary can feel his dreams slipping away from him as he walks through the terminal to try and find some sort of complaints desk. The longer he searches, the greater his fury becomes, until he's practically shaking with rage.

When he finds the desk he lets rip instantly, forgetting everything his Mum has taught him about that temper of his. 

"This is outrageous!" he says to the poor woman behind the counter. He knows it isn't her fault either, but once more someone has to take the blame and she happens to be closest. "We weren't even flying for an hour! I've got an interview this afternoon-" because yes, he's still saying interview, "-and I _have_ to get to London!"

She's full of apologises of course – what else can she do? Calming himself down, Gary says he's sorry too, and he's being sincere. He explains how important it is to him and how much he needs to get to London, knowing it won't make any difference. 

The message is posted throughout the airport. It's on the faces of the customers and staff as well as on the screens: no more flights until the snow clears.

And that's it. The dream is over before it truly began. There'll be other chances, of course there will. At the moment Gary can't see them for his sulking. This is the first time something has gotten in the way of him advancing his career, and it's hard to accept.

Quickly, he tries to formulate a plan. The snow isn't likely to melt overnight, and there's not much chance of catching another flight. If he can get to a train station or a bus stop, he might be able to make it to London by midday, even if it would mean the hassle of public transport...

He jumps when he feels a hand on his arm. It's Mark. 

"C'mon," he says. "There's nothing else we can do tonight. Why don't you come with me? I know a guy who runs a cheap little hotel a mile or so away, and he's always got space."

Gary really, really wants to, but if he does he won't have enough money to get to London at all. He relays all of this to Mark, but Mark drags him outside, saying as long as they stick together, things like that won't matter.

* * *

  
**00:45**  
The Amber House Hotel's lobby is warm, at the very least. The gaudy brown wallpaper hangs off the walls in places, several of the lightbulbs need replacing, and the carpet is horribly crunchy underfoot; the whole building could do with a good spring clean. There's also a slight air of seediness, as if, behind each of the closed doors, various immoral things take place on a regular basis. Gary guesses he's not that far from the truth.

But it's out of the snow, which is the important thing, so he doesn't air his grievances. As previously instructed, he doesn't say much of anything.

"Let me do most of the talking," Mark had told him in the taxi on the way over. "Jason's a great bloke, one of my best friends... But for good reason he's a bit distrustful of people he doesn't know. If he asks you a question, keep your answer short, yeah? Better yet, stick to nodding. And never, ever give your full name or address to anyone in the hotel. Don't give it to _anybody_ if you can help it. You never know how that kind of information can be used against you, trust me."

In the end, Gary had decided to keep quiet and let Mark get on with it. That seemed like it would be the safest choice.

Jason, a slim, attractive man in his early twenties, is stationed at the reception desk. He's reading a thick book, which he's approximately half-way through, his eyes moving rapidly from side to side as he scans the pages. There's a solemnity about him, which Gary assumes is because he's concentrating on the paperback in front of him. 

He flings it one side when they approach, rushing out from behind the desk and into the hallway, enveloping Mark in a bone-crushing hug. Gary hangs back, unsure as to his place.

"Mark!" Jason breathes into his hair, eyes squeezed tight shut like he's trying not to cry. "Oh God, it's been too long since I've heard from you - I'm so glad you're here! I'm so glad you're okay!" He untangles them and holds Mark at arm's length, inspecting him fully. "How are you? I've been worried. Have there been any problems? Are you sleeping enough? Have you been eating properly? You're looking thin again."

Mark laughs. "I'm always thin, Jay. And I'm _fine_ , honestly." He steps forward and they hug once more, only not quite as desperate as before. "How're you doing?"

"Not bad. The old git checks up on me every now and then, but I can handle him."

"He hasn't been in touch recently, has he?"

Jason shakes his head as they let go. "Nah, there hasn't been a peep from him in weeks, and I haven't seen him in person since... you know. Has he bothered you at all?"

"Nope. Three days since we last spoke. Can't say I'm missing him."

"Me neither. I keep expecting him to show up at the desk and demand a bloody room." Here, he puts on a voice. " _And you'd better make it the best one, boy!_ " 

Mark smirks. "If he does, tell him the lift is broken so he has to trudge up three flights of stairs."

They share in the laughter, this time. Gary rubs his toe against the threadbare carpet.

"So, what're you doing here?" Jason glances in Gary's direction, looking him up and down a couple of times. "Good evening, sir." He goes to the desk and flicks through a calendar. "I can give you the suite, is that okay?"

This question is directed at Gary. After a worried look at Mark, who nods encouragingly, he says yes, that's fine. 

For a second time, Mark insists it's to be put on his account, and Jason doesn't ask for money. Instead, he opens a squeaky drawer and gives Mark a key, not bothering to explain where the room is. 

After Jason has bent over the desk and hugged Mark again, making him promise to leave his new phone number when they leave, Mark leads Gary towards the stairs. 

No mention is made of the sleeping arrangements.

They'll sort that out later, he figures.

* * *

  
**01:15**  
As it turns out, the 'only one bed' situation isn't the most awkward thing about sharing a room with Mark. It's a definite issue, but it's not the worst one.

No, that would be the fact that Gary, in his rush to leave his house that evening, has forgotten to bring any form of night time attire with him. No pyjamas. No dressing gown. Nothing. 

Mark shrugs and says he can sleep in his underwear, but Gary doesn't know if that's such a good idea. There's no telling how his body will react to getting into bed with someone else, especially not someone as... well, someone as lovely as Mark. 

Indeed, in the soft light of the hotel room (no doubt due to cheap bulbs), Mark is possibly the prettiest man Gary has ever laid eyes on. He'd found him attractive when he first saw him in the airport, and now he's not as worked up over travel arrangements it's like he's seeing him for the first time.

As Mark bends down to untie the laces of his boots, Gary can't avert his gaze. He's small and quite delicate looking, but could likely kick you into next week if he ever needed to. His previously immaculately styled hair is now moderately dishevelled, and so fluffy that it practically cries out to be stroked. Precisely Gary's type. Gary hadn't realised that he had a type, but it appears that he does, and Mark fits the bill.

Hence why he's more than a little bit nervous about sharing a bed with him. But he doesn't want to kick up yet another fuss, and a bed is a bed, so he doesn't grumble. He'll just have to brave it.

"I can sleep in my t-shirt, I suppose," he says, pulling it back over his head. Mark is still fully dressed. "It'll be crumpled tomorrow but that doesn't matter. I've got a shirt and tie for my audition."

Mark starts to unbutton his own shirt. Gary turns away, mostly out of general politeness. 

"Are you sure you want to work at the Lotus Club, Gary? It's bit..." Mark hesitates, struggling to find the word he wants. "Low class," he settles on. He's down to his pants now, Gary observes out of the corner of his eye. "I worked there for a year and hated every minute of it."

"To be honest, I just want to play the piano; I don't care where I do it."

Drawing back the sheets, Gary gets into the bed. It's somehow more uncomfortable than he had imagined, and he tries his best not to consider the things that might've occurred there before today.

With no sense of embarrassment whatsoever, Mark slides in beside him and switches off the lamp in one move.

"I dunno," he says. "You seem like you're worth more than that god-awful place, that's all."

"You haven't actually heard me play, don't forget."

"I don't need to, I can tell."

Gary is grateful for the darkness when his cheeks redden. "Is it honestly that bad there, then?" he asks, to get the attention away from himself.

Mark turns to face him. Gary is shocked at how close they are. In the gloom he can only just make out Mark's features. It looks like he's smiling, but there's something else there too, and Gary can't quite work out what it is.

"Put it this way: Jason used to work there, and now he works _here_. What does that tell you?"

"I don't like to judge something before I see it," Gary says, shifting a little closer to the edge of the bed. It had looked a lot bigger before they got into it. "If it's as bad as you say I won't take the job, simple as that. That's assuming that I get it, of course."

"You probably will," Mark tells him. "They're not fussy when it comes to who they hire..." He stops and considers what he's said. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." Gary starts laughing, and it doesn't take long for Mark to join in. "What I'm trying to say is that they're so desperate for staff that they'll take pretty much anyone..." Gary laughs harder. "Fuck, that didn't come out right either, did it?"

"Not really, no. I know what you're getting at all the same." 

Mark sighs. "I don't mean to put you off, Gary. I can't let you go there without warning you, that's all."

"Don't worry about me, I can handle it. No doubt I've played in worse places..."

Gary rolls over onto his stomach in an attempt to find a comfortable position, failing miserably.

"God, no offence to your mate, but the pillows on my side are bloody terrible."

When Mark offers to swap, Gary realises it's entirely possible to fall completely and utterly in love with someone after knowing them for _three_ hours.

* * *

  
**10:00**  
"Have you got everything?"

"Think so. Didn't have much in the first place. Let me check in here."

As he goes into the bathroom, Gary glances out of the window. What had been three inches of snow has grown to several feet deep. Straight away he starts worrying about getting to the station, never mind the whole business of boarding the train. 

Originally, Gary hadn't wanted to go by rail from Manchester because he knew from experience how stressful the journey could be, especially late at night. He'd wanted to arrive for his audition as relaxed as he could be. His parents had insisted on giving him the money for the ticket, and he'd taken it, promising to give it back once he got his first payment. Now he'll have to reimburse Mark first, however.

And plus, there's the principle of the whole thing. His parents had given him money for a plane ticket, so he'd wanted a plane ticket. Stubbornness is another thing his Mum spends a lot of her time scolding him for.

Now though, with most of the airports closed, the only feasible alternative of making it to London before midnight is by train. Part of Gary wishes he'd done that in the first place. But then, if he had...

No. No use thinking like that.

He's fully rested, which is a good start. They'd had a relatively undisturbed sleep once they'd stopped talking, and much to Gary's relief he hadn't woken up to Mark screaming at him for inappropriate touching. Quite the opposite. Gary's fairly certain Mark had snuggled up to him more than once, and he's already decided not to mention it.

They lock the door to the room and head back down the stairs to the lobby, where Jason is behind the desk. He looks exhausted, and Gary notices that he's near the end of his book.

"Was everything okay?" Jason asks, taking the key and putting it in the drawer he'd taken it from.

Mark nods. "Great thanks." He gives Jason a piece of paper. "My new number. I'm planning on having that one for awhile. And I'll call you when I get to the flat, I promise."

"Mmm, you'd better. I do worry about you, you know, you silly bastard," Jason tells him, his voice full of warmth. "If there's any more bother, you let one of us know. Me or Rob or... or Howard." 

"Yes, Dad."

"I'm being serious, Mark."

"I know you are. Don't panic, I'm not planning on getting into trouble again."

"Well, you take care of yourself out there." Then Jason turns to Gary, going straight into polite receptionist mode. "Did you enjoy your stay, sir?"

Bemused, Gary confirms that he too had a good night, and thanks him for the hospitality. He's bringing out his wallet to leave a tip in the jar when Mark takes him by the arm.

"I'll see you soon, Jay," he says, leading Gary towards the front door. "Let's not leave it so long until the next time, eh?"

* * *

  
**11:30**  
They've got a fifteen minute wait for the train, and Gary is faint from the lack of food.

"I'm so hungry," he whimpers, shuffling along behind Mark as they walk down the platform. "Normally I've had a minimum of tea, toast and a bowl of cornflakes by now... What time is it? I feel weak and dizzy... Jesus, I'm not going to last..."

Mark is oblivious to his plight. That or he's ignoring it.

"We'll be on this train for ten minutes," he says, reading from one of the wall-mounted screens. "We change at Beeston, but because of the weather we'll have an hour or so to wait." Then he turns and winks at Gary. "And we can get something to eat whilst we do." 

This goes a long way towards perking Gary up. "Thank God! I'm so hungry," he says again, rubbing his belly to try and stop it from grumbling quite as much. "And I'm paying for it, before you argue. You've paid for everything else so far..."

"Fine with me. I've got a mate who runs a little greasy spoon down the road from the station, we could go there for some breakfast."

This revelation piques Gary's interest. He can count the number of people he calls his friends on one hand, and most of them live within a two mile radius of his parents' house. If what he's heard so far is anything to go by, Mark's social network seems to run the entire length of the country. Gary wonders how he knows them all, but it would be rude to ask, so he resists the temptation.

Slightly over five minutes late (which Gary regards as acceptable by the standards of British Rail), the train chugs into the station. Once some of the passengers have filed off, Gary steps forward and holds the door open for Mark before hopping on too. He doesn't know why he does it. It feels like the right thing to do. 

Gary is surprised by how many people board after them. Surely most people would want to stay at home in this weather, what with it being a Saturday and there being no real need to leave the house? Bloody fools, the lot of them.

It's so crowded that they have to walk through four carriages to find any seats at all. They come across two by a window and squash into them, Mark ending up nearly sitting on Gary's lap. Gary tries not to notice.

"Not long," he tells his stomach as it continues to voice its grievances, "and I promise to give you two bacon sandwiches and a cup of tea."

"Egg and beans for me," Mark says, dreamily. "And a slice of fried bread on the side..."

"Stop it, stop it!" Clamping his hands over his ears, Gary shakes his head. "I can't bear it. Come on, train!"

To his relief, the train starts moving. Much too slowly, in Gary's opinion, but Mark assures him that the driver will need to take extra precautions because of the weather. He's been on a lot of trains in his life, he says. 

Gary wants to query this, too. He's never been so interested in another person's life before. He can't believe that someone as young as Mark is this widely travelled and, apparently, successful.

As if reading his mind, Mark answers his unasked questions. "I've been working since I was sixteen, and it's taken me all over the country," he says. "I've got a lot of friends scattered around, so there's always someone I can grab for a cup of coffee or a pint. Most of them are from the Lotus Club." 

"Is Jason?"

"Yeah, he's a dancer by trade; a proper dancer, not like me." Mark says. There's a sigh in his voice. "He's the best I've ever seen... But he didn't get on with the manager, and he left. I really miss him. I really miss everyone from the club."

"You don't work there any more, do you?"

"No... No, I'm strictly freelance."

"Me too. Kind of. I don't have an agent or anything. Perhaps I should get one."  
Mark nods. "Yeah, if you're serious about it." With a grin, he takes Gary's gloved hands in his own. "And you should get these insured whilst you're at it."

Gary can feel himself blushing again, and he hopes that it's not too obvious. "They wouldn't be worth much."

As Mark goes to say something else, the announcer interrupts him to relay that they'll shortly be pulling in to Beeston Station.

* * *

  
**12:15**  
"Gary, if you moan about being hungry one more time, I'm gonna to leave you here to fend for yourself."

"I'm sorry! I can't help it!"

The walk to this café that Mark knows is much longer than his promised 'down the road'. To Gary, it feels like they've been going for well over an hour, although Mark declares this to be bullshit. The snow impedes their progress somewhat, and they totter along the road, clinging to one another like two old women, both desperate not to fall over in broad daylight.

"I hate snow," Mark says as he slips. Gary keeps a firm grip on him, which has a negative effect on his own balance. Against the odds, he stays upright. "Actually, I hate ice. Snow's not so bad. Ice is a wanker."

Gary agrees, but he's concentrating too closely on not going arse over tit that he doesn't dare reply. They shuffle forward a few more feet, navigating several patches of black ice, trying to find bits of pavement that are covered by shop awnings and therefore clear.

Two treacherous roads later they arrive at _Ruby's_ , and Gary has never been so grateful to see a café in all his life. He nearly weeps as Mark pushes the door open and the delicious smell of grease wafts out to them.

"Oh, thank God!" 

Forgetting his manners altogether, Gary gives Mark a moderate shove and they tumble through the door. None of the other diners notice their arrival, they're all too busy complaining about the weather, or clutching at their mugs in a desperate bid to keep warm.

Gary collapses into the nearest bright red plastic chair, and manages to muster up enough energy to retrieve a menu from the other side of the table.

"When was the last time you ate?" Mark asks, sliding with much more grace into the opposite seat. He takes the other menu and turns to the drinks.

"Last night at seven-thirty. We'd just finished our pudding when I got the call for the audition. Didn't even have time for my Mum to make me any sandwiches for the journey, so I've been without food ever since... Oh, I suppose I had that bread roll and bag of nuts on the plane... But I feel very strongly about breakfast, and missing it isn't generally a road I like to go down."

"What do you fancy?"

They study the menus intently, and Gary can't make up his mind. There's too much to choose from. "All of it. Everything is _exactly_ what I fancy."

"Would it help if I told you that everything's delicious?"

"Not in the slightest..."

A shadow falls over the table, and they look up to see a tall, muscular man looming over it, frowning. He's wearing a grey t-shirt and light blue jeans, with a checked apron tied loosely at his waist. Gary gasps in terror at the sight of him-

"What've I told you about coming into my café?"

-Mark all but squeals in delight.

" _Howard!_ "

Mark leaps out of his seat and flings his arms around Howard's neck. Despite the height difference, he does an admirable job.

"Where in the bloody hell have you _been_ , Markie?" Howard asks, squeezing him just as hard as Jason had done. "I tried phoning you hundreds of times - it kept saying the number was disconnected."

"I know, I'm sorry. It's a long story... I'll give you my new one." They break apart and Mark sits down, reaching for his bag. He takes out an organiser of some kind and flips it open to a blank page. "Here," he says, after he's written down his number and torn it out. "I'll call you when I get home. Er, well, I've promised Jay the same so you'll have to wait until I've called him."

Howard perches on the chair next to Mark. "You saw Jason? Is he still... Did he... How's he doing?"

Mark wobbles his hand in a 'so-so' gesture. "Same as usual, itching to get out of there. He needs to be on stage before he starts losing his mind, in my opinion. It's been what, three months? He's gonna go mental in there, if he hasn't already. This is my friend Gary, by the way."

"Hmm?" Howard turns and notices that there's someone else at the table with them. Gary attempts a confident expression, but can tell it falls flat. "Oh. Hi. I'm Howard."

"Nice to meet you, Howard."

Very formally, they shake hands over the table, Gary feeling that he's under scrutiny. Although Howard hasn't shown any kind of malice towards him, and he doesn't have any evidence to prove that he might start to, it makes him rather uncomfortable. He wriggles in his seat, a complete bundle of nerves. The whole 'starving to death' thing seems like a lifetime ago.

"We met at the airport in Manchester," Mark explains. "Gary's got an audition at the club tonight." 

The way he says _the club_ makes Gary more nervous than he already was, and he waits for Howard to look at him like he's crazy. That seems to be the way it goes.

Promptly, Howard screws up his face in dismay. "Not that dump?" Mark and Gary confirm the facts, and he shakes his head with a chuckle. "You're a brave man, mate. We couldn't get out quick enough."

"Y-you worked there too, then?"

As Howard nods, Gary remembers what Mark had said on the train. He can picture Howard as a dancer. He's wrong.

"Yeah, in the kitchens for two years. Two bloody years of loyalty and what did it get me? Absolute sod all." Howard rolls his eyes and Mark gives him a sympathetic pat on the arm. "Not that I wanted to work in there or anything. I always wanted to be up on the stage with Jason."

"And Mark," Gary adds.

Howard glances at Mark and then to Gary, smiling. "And Mark," he agrees. "Of course. Bastard manager never let me have a go."

"Howard's a fantastic dancer," Mark cuts in, causing Howard to feign embarrassment. "He won't admit it, but he is."

At that moment there's a loud _bang!_ from the kitchen, followed by a woman calling urgently for Howard. He groans, drags himself to his feet, and takes their order.

"I'll put a rush on it for you. And don't you dare forget to call me, Owen."

* * *

  
**13:45**  
By the time they get back to the station, Gary feels much better. Brunch had been so delicious that he'd been considering ordering seconds. He'd resisted because of the time restraints imposed on them by the railway, otherwise it may have extended to thirds or fourths.

They needn't have rushed. Every screen in the station declares that all trains are delayed by up to two hours, despite the snow starting to clear in places.

When the train finally arrives, Gary is certain that his toes will be dropping off relatively soon. They climb onto it and find the carriage much emptier than the one before.

"Bloody hell, it's cold..." He catches sight of Mark's expression. "Sorry, I'm moaning again, aren't I?"

At once, Mark's face shifts into a grin. "Just a bit. But I agree with you this time. Feel my nose – is it as cold as I think it is?"

Gary takes one of his gloves off and obliges the request. "Freezing. Though so are my fingers, so it might not be as bad as that." 

"Are you sure? I can't feel it. I might freeze to death, you know."

"Oh, but when it was me _starving_ to death, that was overdramatic?"

It's not that funny, but they start to giggle. They giggle so much that a stern looking woman stares down her nose at them and tuts. Trying to suppress it makes it worse, and before long they've got tears rolling down their faces, and they're clutching one another, unable to breathe. Gary can't remember the last time he's felt like this, the lightness in his chest that only happens when he's helpless with laughter.

Once they've recovered, Gary checks his watch. "How long are we on this train for?"

They're supposed to be on it for two hours. In reality it's less than ten minutes. 

"Fucking useless bloody trains!"

Back on the platform at Beeston, his good mood gone altogether, Gary stamps his feet. It's mostly to try and get the circulation going, but there's a touch of petulance in it, too. His Mum would be outraged.

"That's the second time I've been kicked off some form of transport because of the poxy weather. I'm not sure if this is meant to be, you know."

"It wasn't the weather; it was a fault on the line." Mark is reading the station's screens, and from the way he's frowning Gary can tell they don't contain good news. He relays this in simple terms: "We're fucked." 

"Eh, why!?"

"No more trains going towards London until everything's fixed. Unless you want to walk, I don't think you're making that audition."

"Great." Gary flops onto a nearby bench, defeated. Hesitantly, Mark perches next to him. "What now?"

"We should keep going," Mark says. "You might as well try to get there. And, one way or another, I have to get to London as soon as possible."

"How are we supposed to do that?"

They go through the available options one by one, trying to work out the best plan of action. Mark doesn't think trying to find another train station is a good idea. Gary doesn't want to get the bus.

Between the two of them, they come to the most logical (yet quite obviously insane nonetheless) conclusion: hire a car and drive the remaining one-hundred-and-twenty-seven miles.

* * *

  
**15:15**  
Hiring the car is the easy bit, Gary discovers. Paying for it, however, is much trickier. Both of them empty their pockets onto the counter in the car rental facility, and count up every last penny of their combined cash. It's nowhere near enough to hire even the most basic vehicle available.

"Sorry guys, you're fifty quid short."

Gary recounts the money, and the clerk is correct. He hadn't doubted him, but he needs to make absolutely certain for himself.

"I can't put anything else on the account, I'm sorry." Mark sounds genuinely upset. He stares at the floor. "Unless..." He looks up at Gary, his brow furrowed. "I've got an idea. Wait here, I'll be half an hour."

Before leaving, he does something completely unexpected.

He kisses him.

Mark stands there, in the middle of _Accelerators Car Rental_ , Beeston, and kisses him like this is the time he'll ever seen him, gripping Gary's forearms so tight that he nearly cuts off the circulation.

And then he's out the door before Gary can question, respond to or thank him.

All he can do is wait for Mark to return. And as he waits in the tiny, freezing cold office, he tries to work out how on earth his life got to this point. 

He's travelling down the country with a man he met yesterday, rushing to get to an audition that he's not sure he wants to go through with any more. 

Gary sinks into a chair and holds his head in his hands.

Does he still _want_ to go to the Lotus Club, play the best he's ever played and get this job? Up until a few hours ago, the answer would've been yes. But now? Now he's not so confident about that. Why has he continued heading towards London, then? Why doesn't he turn around, get on a train and go back to Frodsham? That would be the simplest thing to do. With any luck, he'd be there by midnight. He could write it off as a bizarre experience, find a boring yet tolerable job, and get on with his life.

He doesn't want that.

He wants Mark to return. He wants to hire a car with Mark. He wants to drive the hire car to London with Mark. 

Fuck it, he wants Mark. And that's a terrifying prospect.

Gary clutches his head even harder, rocking back and forwards in the chair. His fingers will probably leave odd dents in his temples, but he doesn't care about stupid little things like that.

What he does care about is Mark.

Mark. He barely knows him. All he knows is his name, what he does, roughly where he lives, and two of his friends. No matter how Gary looks at it, that isn't much to go on. He doesn't feel like he can ask Mark outright to fill in the gaps, either. They've known each other for less than a day, and despite everything that they've been through together, that's too much like prying.

It's extremely confusing.

Groaning quietly, Gary considers going out to find Mark and telling him that it's been fun – fun, insane, exciting, frustrating, infuriating and brilliant - but he has to go home now.

He doesn't do that. Instead, he goes over to the desk and asks the clerk if he can borrow the phone to make a brief call. When he says yes, Gary dials the number that he'd scribbled down in the margin of a page in his prized lyric-book. Someone picks up after the third ring.

"Lotus Club, Bruce speaking."

"Er, good afternoon, this is Gary Barlow. I'm supposed to have an audition at the club tonight?"

There's a shuffling noise on the other end, and papers rustling. "Oh yes, we've got you down for anytime after five."

"Yeah... I'm so sorry, but I won't be able to make it tonight. I'm on my way, but I've had some transport setbacks..."

Gary explains the situation as best he can, leaving out his travelling companion. He makes sure to emphasise that absolutely none of this has been his fault, which he doesn't think is too far from the truth. To his astonishment, Bruce says it's alright.

"This weather's a nightmare, isn't it? We're having all sorts of issues down here. Will you be in London tomorrow?"

"Oh yes," Gary says, with as much confidence as he can. He crosses his fingers. "I'll definitely be in London tomorrow."

"I'd pop down at lunchtime in that case. My boss should be getting back from the bank by then. Any other problems, give us a call."

Gary thanks him repeatedly and hangs up. As the receiver hits the cradle, the door opens and Mark enters.

"Got it," he says, waving five crisp ten pound notes which are clearly fresh out of a machine. He slaps them down on the counter, hard. "A car, please. It doesn't matter what kind or colour or size it is, just give us one that'll get us to London in basic safety and comfort."

Gary, speechless, nods and goes along with him.

He's come this far, after all.

* * *

  
**15:55**  
The Rover Metro they end up hiring does its best to adhere to Mark's requirements. Dave at _Accelerators_ had promised that the little green car was essentially brand new. Gary suspects that this may have been a stretch of the truth.

"This thing is pathetic," Gary says. He's got his foot on the floor and it's not making any difference. The speedometer must be broken. "We're not even doing sixty."

"Mmm." 

"I suppose we don't want to go too fast on the motorway, do we? Not if it's snowy."

"No."

"It does look pretty clear, which is a promising start."

"Yeah."

"There's no traffic, thank God. We should get there before seven, as long as we don't get lost or caught up anywhere."

"That's good."

Not wanting to take his eyes away from the road for too long, Gary glances over at Mark. He's huddled up in the passenger seat, his head against the window. His eyes aren't closed, but they're getting there.

"You alright?"

Mark nods, yawning. "Yeah, sorry. I'm knackered. Mind if I have a little snooze? I'll take over whenever you want me to, but I'm not gonna be any use to you unless I get some shut-eye..."

He's gone in an instant, and Gary is slightly taken aback. One moment he had been thanking him for offering to drive the whole way, and the next he had closed his eyes and fallen asleep. Gary hopes that it's peaceful, if not terribly comfortable.

Every so often he sneaks a peek at Mark, and thoroughly admonishes himself for it. 

_Pay attention to the road before you crash,_ he thinks, knowing full well that this isn't the real reason for telling himself off.

Up ahead, the traffic is getting heavier, which is a good enough distraction. Unfortunately, this means going even slower and, soon, they're hardly doing twenty-five. A truck has skidded off the road and ploughed into the central reservation, causing a massive tailback. Gary mutters under his breath as they crawl along, the car juddering every time he's forced to change gear.

Possibly even worse than any of that, he can't get the radio to work properly, and spends a good fifteen minutes listening to the crackle of static. When he finally gets it tuned to something acceptable, the car starts shaking uncontrollably.

"Shit!"

Gary pulls over onto the hard shoulder at once, and tries to find the button to open the bonnet. It takes him longer than it should to find, and when he does locate it, he can't get it to work. He pulls and pushes, but nothing happens.

"For God's sake..." He gives it an extra hard tug, which results in a _pop_ as the bonnet is released. "Oh."

Shivering in the bitter wind and trying not to slip over, Gary gropes his way to the front of the car. His fingers are numb within moments, and he struggles with the catch, but he gets everything in order and peers down into the engine bay. There has to be something, although nothing stands out as broken...

The fan belt looks loose, which isn't that much of a problem, and is the most likely cause. Gary doesn't know _that_ much about cars, but he does know that it shouldn't be too difficult to fix. At least it's cooled down under there, thanks to the combination of the weather and how long it's taken Gary to get to this point, so touching things doesn't result in serious burns.

With the tool kit that he finds in the boot, Gary tightens the belt, all the while mentally composing the stern letter he's going to write to Dave at _Accelerators_ concerning the words 'essentially', 'brand' and 'new'.

Half-frozen, Gary gets back into the car and notes that Mark hasn't so much as flickered an eyelid. Praying that nothing else is broken, he rejoins the motorway and puts his foot down.

He manages to drive for a further fifty-six miles without a hitch, before he has to pull into a motorway services to have a wee. He doesn't want to disturb Mark, so he locks the car and dashes off into the building.

It's colder now than it had been at the side of the road, the snow falling lightly and the wind whipping at his exposed flesh. Gary wraps his coat around himself, wishing that he'd taken his Mum's advice and brought a nice woolly scarf for the trip. He'd dismissed this idea as over the top. Still, he hadn't imagined the trip would play out like it has.

When he returns, Mark still hasn't budged. Gary unlocks the door and slides in, grateful for the warmth that the car provides. It's not much, though. He'd had the heater on at full blast whilst they'd been travelling, but turning it off whilst he was in the garage has made the temperature inside plummet straight down. At least they're sheltered from the wind, if nothing else.

Gary starts the engine and the heaters roar into life. He holds his hands in front of one of them, relishing the heat washing over them, until it starts to burn his skin. 

Then he takes another look at Mark.

He's shivering.

"Mark?" Gary gives him a little nudge and he frowns, snuggling further into his jacket. Touching his cheek, Gary is alarmed when he realises that it's ice cold. "Fuck..."

As fast as he can with his seatbelt on - realising when he's halfway through that unclipping it would've been an option - Gary takes his own coat off and lays it over Mark. It's not the thickest garment in the world, but it's better than nothing. He points the majority of the heaters at Mark too, and ensures that they're turned up to the maximum.

He's fussing like his own mum, but it's the least he can do.

Mark mutters something under his breath. It sounds like _thanks_. Gary smiles and pulls out of the car park.

* * *

  
**18:45**  
It comes as no surprise that Mark lives in such a nice block of flats. Gary would've been astonished if it had been anything else. It's not a huge building by any means, perhaps five floors high, but it's impressive nonetheless. The road is quiet and full of posh cars - Gary doesn't think their pathetic Rover wouldn't be welcome on a more permanent basis, despite it being 'new'.

He finds a space outside and starts to shake Mark awake. Of course he feels bad – Mark looks so serene as he sleeps, somehow even smaller all curled up underneath Gary's coat – but it has to be done. They can't stay in the car forever, not least because of how cold it's going to get overnight. 

Gary's anxiety levels had risen steadily throughout the weather report on the radio, groaning each time a new crisis was announced. 

Airports across the country closed. Trains being cancelled (or _delayed for the foreseeable future_ as one politician had put it). Roads being declared unsafe. People being advised to stay in at all costs. 

None of this bodes well for him getting back to Frodsham before Christmas, which is a pain in the arse.

Then again...

"C'mon Mark, we're at your place. You're gonna have to get up..."

Mark growls at him and snuggles further under the coat, tightening his grip on the collar. Gary goes around to the passenger door and tries to haul him out, but, little as he is, Mark is too heavy.

"I can't carry you, Mark. Get up!"

Much protesting later and he's leading Gary to the front door of his third-floor flat. Everyone that they pass waves hello, and Mark cheerfully returns the gesture, enquiring as to their health and that of their parents, confirming in Gary's mind that he's incapable of anything other than extreme friendliness.

Mark's place is, as Gary had imagined it would be, spotless. His belongings are neatly packed away in stylish cupboards and bookshelves, every surface is shining, and there's not a hint of dust anywhere.

"Wow," he says as he sits down in the chair Mark offers him. "This is a great flat." When he spots the piano, though, he's up on his feet again. "Oh _wow_! This must've cost a fortune! Is it a Steinway?"

"Er, it's a piano," Mark laughs. "That's as much as I know. It was here when I moved in – the flat was fully furnished, so you know..."

Gary can't resist. He perches on the stool and lifts the lid to expose the keys. From the way that they're gleaming, Gary can tell they've hardly been touched. Either that or Mark is fastidious about cleaning them afterwards.

Automatically, he starts to play the first tune that comes to mind – one he's been working on for a few weeks and has been stuck in his head on a permanent loop. It sounds wonderful on this exquisite instrument, even the notes he's still tinkering with.

Gary had admired a piano exactly like this one when he was younger, begging his parents to walk the long way home from the shops so that he could press his nose up to the shop window and stare at it.

And now he's playing one. It's an amazing feeling.

Mark leans against the piano, his chin in his hands. He sways in time with the music, and Gary starts watching him instead of what he's doing. Somehow he manages to hit the right notes in the right order and when he finishes, Mark applauds.

"Now I _really_ think you should think about insuring those things."

Gary blushes. "I don't know about that... but thanks. I've been practising that one for awhile, trying to get it perfect."

"Sounds like it's there, to me. I like the ending the best."

"Most people tend to."

Mark insists that Gary plays something else, taking a seat next to him as he makes his demands. Obligingly, Gary starts to play another tune that he's been working on.

"This one's got a few words to it," he says. "Dunno if I like them yet."

"Sing 'em!" Mark nudges him in the ribs. "Go on, I want to hear it with the words."

"Oh, they're not finished..."

"Doesn't matter." Another nudge, firmer this time. "Go _on_!" 

Feeling silly, Gary starts to sing. He does the first verse and chorus, and then Mark rests his head on his shoulder and suddenly the remaining lyrics are a little harder to remember.

"Er... _So good to be near you, so dark when you walk from my side... Baby why can't I wake up with you..._ There might be another little bit here that goes something like, _you're my li-iiiiiiii-ffffeee_... I'm not sure at the moment. Then there's the _hear you thinking_ bit, and back to the chorus. _Why can't I wake up with you..._ "

Mark listens and nods appreciatively. Gary relaxes, even as he tries for the high note.

"Damn," he says when he just misses it. "I still can't get that bit. I won't be rolling this one out tomorrow..."

"I wouldn't worry too much. The customers who end up in the lounge aren't that fussy about what's played, as long as it's constant and distracts 'em from whatever's going on outside." 

Mark fills Gary in on the Lotus Club.

He says there's two main areas – nicknamed 'the lounge' and 'the club'. The club is where the action is: the dancing, the snogging, the groping. The lounge is for people who like to come in and have a quiet drink and a bite to eat, but nothing more. That's where Gary will be, providing he's given the job. 

"The lounge is the better side," he assures him. "Much better. Howard worked in there and I used to go through all the time wi- fuck! I was supposed to call Jason, wasn't I?"

Excusing himself and telling Gary to keep on playing if he wants, Mark goes into another room. He closes the door, but the walls are thin enough that Gary can hear him.

"Jay? ... Yeah, I'm great, got back to the flat a little while ago. Had some trouble getting here from Beeston..." He hesitates, and when he continues speaking there's a slight uneasiness in his voice. "Mmm, had a changeover there, so I went and saw Howard. ... Oh, he's not too bad; he wanted to know how you were."

There's a long pause in which everything Mark says is clearly being ignored. He fights to be heard, eventually managing to get a word in. A few of them, actually.

"Jason, he's concerned, that's all! And I don't blame him, he hasn't heard from you for three months! ... I know it was! I was _there_! But he misses you, stupid. Think how close you used to be..." Mark sighs. "I know it was," he says a second time.

Another pause. This time, Mark doesn't interrupt whatever Jason is saying.

"He asked if you were okay and I said you were. Nothing else, I promise. ... No! Jay, I wouldn't do that, would I? ... Exactly. Anyway, I'd better go 'cause Gary's here. ... Yeah, he was. ... No, it wasn't like that. He's got an audition tomorrow at the club and I told him he could stay here as it's down the road. Dunno what we're gonna do until then, but we'll find something. ... Eh? When!?"

Mark's tone changes; he sounds extremely excited about the news Jason has given him.

"I'll go tonight. Thanks Jay, that's brilliant news! ... Of course I will. And I'll get his number for you too. ... Aww, no he doesn't. He was on your side, mate. If he's angry with anyone then it's me. ... I know, I know. Look, will you do me a favour? Call Howard. ... No, shut up and listen. You call Howard; tell him I asked you to let him know that I'm alive and well. Then you can both apologise for being such twats at the same time."

With a cheerful goodbye to Jason, Mark hangs up the phone and comes back into the living room. Gary continues to rehearse his piece for the audition, pretending that he hasn't detected Mark approaching.

"Sorry, when me and Jay getting chatting we can go on for hours. We bicker like two old women. So, I was wondering..."

Mark asks Gary if he'd like to go to a bar for a drink. Gary says he doesn't want to get drunk. Mark promises him that they won't.  
Not _quite_ believing him, Gary puts his coat on and follows Mark out of the flat.

* * *

  
**20:30**  
As he steps out of the taxi, Gary almost wishes that they'd nipped to the off-licence and bought a bottle of wine. To call the bar he's standing in front of a dive would be an understatement. He hasn't seen the Lotus Club yet, but he hopes it'll be a lot nicer than this.

"Christ," Mark says as he joins Gary on the pavement. "Jay never said it was this dodgy... Ah well, doesn't matter once you're inside, does it?" He slips his arm through Gary's. "Let's go and get some drinks down us."

So they do. Mark says that he'll go and get the first round in, and leaves Gary alone at a table. They'd been lucky to find it – the club is full to bursting, people crammed into every corner, shouting to be heard over the music. It's booming from the speakers so loudly that Gary can't work out what the current song is supposed to be. 

There's a large dance floor in the centre, filled with bodies writhing and gyrating against one another. Some people have decided to forgo this entirely and are showcasing their moves on tables or the bar, with staff half-heartedly trying to put a stop to it. A young girl and her boyfriend are having a major row on the sidelines. Before storming off, she unfolds her arms and slaps him so hard that Gary winces.

Up at the bar, several men approach Mark and offer to buy him a drink (he refuses them all, much to Gary's delight). Then a tall bloke in a blue shirt and dark trousers steps out. 

He's young, younger than Mark, and handsome along with it. He grabs Mark, and Gary is all ready to leap up and dive to his rescue when he notices that Mark is grabbing him back, babbling excitedly in his ear. This must be the person Jason had mentioned.

From the way Mark is cuddling up to him, Gary isn't sure whether he wants to meet this particular friend.

He doesn't get much of a choice. Mark drags him through the crowd and arrives at their table, beaming. They're carrying two drinks each, and Gary has an urge to down them one after the other.

"Gary," Mark says, out of breath, "this is my best mate, Rob."

Without any degree of ceremony, Rob plonks himself down in the spare chair, pulling Mark onto his lap. "Fuck me," he chuckles, taking a healthy swig of one of Mark's drinks, "you look terrified! Don't worry, I don't actually bite. Not unless you hurt my little pal here – and when I say little, I do mean little."

"Oh shut up," Mark says, laughing too. "And be nice to Gary, or I'll report you to your new boss for lying about your age."

"You dare! In his head I'm eighteen, right? It's only two years, I can pull it off!"

"Yeah, because you did that brilliantly at the Lotus... Isn't that what he sacked you for in the end?"

Rob shrugs. "Among other things. That was his official excuse, though. Dickhead. I didn't hear him complaining about me being underage when I turned up to work the first day..."

Gary listens as the two of them go back and forth, playfully mocking one another. He's painfully aware that he hasn't said a single word yet, but so far they don't seem to have noticed. They don't seem to notice much apart from one another for quite a long time.

"I was going to call the other two when I got set up here, but you know how I am with that sort of thing," Rob says. "Have you spoken to them recently?"

Mark nods. "I saw them today."

"They still at odds?"

"Yeah," Mark says with a sigh. "They're as stubborn as each other."

"Tell me about it. So, what were you doing up there?"

"Oh, I was working in Manchester. I... popped on them both on our way down here..."

Gary settles back in his seat with his drink, as Mark starts to recount his tale - no, _their_ tale - and he can't resist smiling every time his name comes up. Although he's been stressed (frazzled), cold (freezing), hungry (starving) and worried (close to breaking point), the past two days have been some of the best he's ever experienced.

And it's all because of the little bloke some six inches from him (balancing on someone else's lap, but that doesn't bother him anymore).

Whether he likes it or not, Gary realises that he's completely and utterly besotted.

He has been, really, since the Amber House Hotel. Since Mark had shared his pillows. No, before that. Since Mark had offered to pay for his ticket. Since they first locked eyes at the reservations desk of Manchester Airport...

"Gary?"

"Hmm? Sorry."

Gary blinks rapidly in an attempt to clear his head, and he sees that Rob has gone. When he squints over at the bar, he spots him serving a customer, juggling two bottles of tequila to entertain her.

"He's... er... exuberant, isn't he?"

Mark twists in his chair so that he can watch too. "Ah, that's nothing – he's normally serenading 'em by now. He's a terrible flirt, but it goes with the territory." He turns back to Gary. "He was just as bad when he worked at the Lotus. Before he got the sack, that is. The manager doesn't tend to put up with people who stick up for themselves, and Rob's got a right gob on him at times." 

That small fact doesn't surprise Gary in the slightest, but for all intents and purposes he quite likes this Rob. The more Gary hears about this mysterious manager, on the other hand, the more he definitely _dis_ likes him.

"D'you still want to do this audition, Gaz?"

 _Gaz_. The way Mark says it sends a shiver down his spine. Most people call him that – apart from his Mum, and he prefers not to reflect upon _that_ particular nickname – but it sounds different coming from him.

"Nope, not anymore. But I'm gonna do it."

"Why?"

"Why not? It might not be the best place in the world and the gaffer might be a bit..."

"A bit of a knob," Mark offers.

"Right. But it's a job, isn't it? It's making money doing what I'm good at. Isn't that what _you_ do?"

Mark thinks for a moment. "I suppose you could put it like that," he says. He picks up his vodka and lemonade, swirling the liquid in the glass. "My job is just that: a job. I don't especially enjoy it. You've got a real talent. Me, I'm only _okay_ at everything I do."

"Don't say that."

"It's true."

The corners of Gary's mouth twitch. He's only had two drinks – albeit two large measures of rum and Coke – but he's feeling bold. He stands up, the world spinning a little as he does, and holds out his hand to Mark.

"Prove it."

Mark puts his glass down and allows Gary to lead them to the dance floor, which has emptied considerably since the music has started to slow down.

This is where Gary's plan starts to get a little shaky. Yes, the obvious thing to do is to _dance_ , but how? Should he go for it and wait for Mark to follow, risking embarrassment, humiliation and quite possibly injury? Or should he stay still and allow Mark to get things going first? That would be preferable, but as he's the one who started this...

He doesn't have to wait long.

Mark begins to dance, his hips moving perfectly in time with the rhythm of the song, and he does it with such grace that Gary can't tear his eyes away. 

His own eyes closed, Mark continues, their hands clasped together, and it's the most beautiful, erotic thing Gary has ever seen. In an instant, he comes to the conclusion that he will never, ever be able to forget this moment, and nothing will beat it. Even if he were to achieve his dreams and become an international superstar, this would eclipse it tenfold. The sight of Mark dancing so close to him, completely lost in what he's doing, is almost enough to make Gary drop to his knees and beg for mercy.

Mark stops, long enough to encourage Gary to join him. 

Feeling self-conscious, Gary obeys. Though he's got nowhere near as much finesse as his partner, his dancing isn't that bad. Okay, he can't do any particularly extravagant steps and his moves are a touch rigid, but for the most part he keeps up. Mark doesn't object, which is the most important thing.

They keep going until the song ends and a new, much slower, one begins. That's when Mark slithers his hands up Gary's chest. He pauses for a moment, fingers lingering over Gary's thumping heart, before sliding them around his neck.

In return, Gary wraps his arms around Mark's tiny waist, pulling them impossibly close. This seems to please Mark a great deal. He beams at Gary, baring his teeth and punctuating it all with a wink.

They're not really dancing anymore but simply swaying, staring at one another and smiling. As much as Gary wants to say something romantic or seductive, nothing comes to mind. At this point he'd settle for something mildly flirty or suggestive, but all he can do is grin stupidly and pray he doesn't step on Mark's toes.

"You're good at this," Mark says, taking the lead and moving his legs so that Gary has to do the same. "Who taught you?"

"Nobody. I, er, don't dance much. I just provide the music."

"Ah, that's true; you keep your bum firmly on your piano stool at all times..." Quirking an eyebrow, Mark reaches down to give Gary's arse a firm squeeze. "You shouldn't. You're good. Very good..."

And there, with his arms around Gary's neck, their bodies pressed up together in the darkened club, Mark kisses him for the second time. This time, it's not a fleeting, desperate kiss like the first one had been. It's soft, tender, fiery, passionate... his brain's valiant attempt to keep up is futile. All he can do is concentrate on holding them both up, Mark's tongue sliding smoothly against his, their teeth knocking together lightly.

And that's not all.

Gary isn't sure what to do with his hips. He doesn't want to let things get too heavy too fast, but his trousers are getting tighter and his mind is getting cloudier, and he has to fight himself from pushing his crotch into Mark's and grinding up against him like some kind of wanton harlot.

Just as Gary thinks he's going to go insane, they break apart. He moves in for round two, but Mark puts a finger to his lips and shakes his head. His eyes are wide open and extremely dark.

"I like you, Gaz," he whispers huskily. "Let's go back to the flat, yeah?"

Gary has never agreed to anything as quickly in his entire life.

* * *

  
**23:00**  
Only bothering to turn on one lamp, they tumble into the unmade bed. Neither of them are drunk as such; they're light-headed from everything that's happened so far, and from whatever's coming next. 

Straddling Gary, Mark straightens up and removes his shirt. Even in the dim light, Gary can make out the soft curves of his body, his lightly tanned, blemish-free, skin...

"God," he mutters, running his hand from one of Mark's nipples down to his naval, tiny goose bumps forming under his fingertips, "you're beautiful..."

Mark bends down and kisses him again. "I want to return the compliment," he says. "Take yours off, too."

Without giving him a chance to follow orders, he starts to pull Gary's now extremely crumpled t-shirt over his head. After it's been cast to the floor, Mark curls up next to him and strokes his chest affectionately.

"Mmm, like I thought," he says. "You're very sexy, Gary Barlow."

"Ha! No, I'm really not. You're much too good for me..."

Mark props himself up on one elbow, frowning. "Don't say things like that," he scolds. "I meant it – I think you're absolutely gorgeous."

From the look on his face, Gary can see that he's telling the truth. This makes him happier – and hornier – than he can explain in words, so he decides not to use any. Instead, he rolls over onto his side and takes Mark fully into his arms, showing him just how much of an effect he's been having. 

"Gary..."

Gary doesn't want to talk anymore. They've done plenty of that. Nevertheless, Mark is determined to be heard, and, through Gary's onslaught of kisses, he manages to speak. "Are you sure about this? I... I don't want to do anything you're not comf-"

Gary responds by moving his attention to Mark's neck, along his shoulders, stopping in the middle to lick at his collarbone. Mark ceases his interruptions and starts purring like a kitten, melting under his touch. This only makes Gary want to touch him more, so that he can coax more of those beautiful sounds out.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"I dunno, it's what feels right," Gary murmurs as his fingers head towards Mark's crotch. "You drive me crazy."

"Sorry," Mark says, amused. "I'll stop if you like."

"Don't you dare..."

"This is really what you want, then?"

"I want to make love to you, Mark," Gary whispers into his ear. "Here and now."

If Mark has any further objections, he doesn't voice them.

Their trousers are slipped off and thrown to one side, and Mark starts to take his briefs down. Time stands still as he lowers them to his ankles and kicks them off the end of the bed.

And there he is, naked. Gary has to take a moment to admire the entirety of Mark, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He forgets all about being embarrassed of his own body, drinking in how gorgeous Mark is, and how amazing his life is that he should be the one to be doing this.

"Wow," he says, words failing him somewhat. "...Wow."

Mark giggles. "That's what you said when you saw the piano." He raises an eyebrow in that way Gary has come to learn he can't resist. "Which do you find more attractive?"

"Well," Gary stokes Mark's cheek before going down for another kiss, "you're a very attractive man. But that's a _Steinway_..."

They don't say much after that. There's no need to. Everything can be conveyed by looking and touching. Gary nuzzles into Mark's neck, and is rewarded with what seems like acres of delicate, warm flesh. Mark parts his lips slightly and Gary is there, their tongues sliding together so softly it sends shivers down their spines.

Mark sits up and reaches over to the table by the side of his bed, fishing out a half-empty tube from the top drawer. With his eyes full of lust and his breath heavy, he holds it out to Gary, nodding in answer to the question that hasn't been asked yet.

Wishing that his hands weren't shaking so much, Gary takes the tube and unscrews the lid. He squeezes some out onto his palm, and stares at it for a moment. Is he really being given permission to do this?

As he's about to double-check, Mark slides down so that he's flat on his back, and parts his legs. His eyelids flutter closed and a serene smile appears on his face. This gives Gary all of the permission he could ever ask for.

Gary uses two fingers to apply the lube, preparing Mark as gently as he can. It's not long before he's daring enough to slip one finger in and, oh God, it's wonderful. He can't stop himself from adding another, and if Mark's reaction is genuine, it isn't unwelcome.

"Oh," he whimpers, arching his back. Gary lays a hand on his stomach and eases him down onto the bed. "That's so... so..."

"Shh," Gary says, slowly twisting his fingers, determined to eliminate any risk of hurting Mark. "It won't be long."

"I want you so much..."

Those five words do something to Gary that he doesn't quite understand, and before he can question it, he's pulled his fingers out, thrown his pants to the floor and is fiddling with the tube again. Unwavering in his efforts to cause as little discomfort as possible, he manages to slow himself down long enough to prepare himself properly, coating his cock in more lube than is strictly necessary.

After tossing the now-empty tube onto the floor to join their clothes, Gary positions himself between Mark's legs, stopping for a moment to gaze down at the man below him. He lowers himself so that he can run his tongue along Mark's extremely red bottom lip.

"You ready?"

Mark nods, moving his hands to Gary's bum and giving him a little squeeze of encouragement. He looks so relaxed, so calm. It's a direct contrast to how nervous Gary is, his heart pounding and his own hands trembling non-stop. "I'm ready."

"If it hurts, tell me."

But Mark doesn't complain. He doesn't moan or cry out or try to pull away, or do any of the other things Gary had been afraid of. If anything, his smile widens more, and he wriggles down the bed, eager to increase the sensations.

Gary goes as slowly and tenderly as he can, trying in vain to make this moment last forever.

"Fuck," he groans as he fills Mark to the hilt. "You're... Oh _fuck_..."

Mark says nothing, and moves his arms so that he can hold onto the headboard.

It doesn't take long to get a rhythm going, and soon Gary's thrusting deep into Mark, forgetting his earlier nerves. 

"Oh Gaz," Mark says, titling his head to expose his neck once again. "I've been waiting for this all day. I didn't think it'd be this good..."

Mark raises his legs, first bringing his knees up under Gary's arms before settling on crossing them over his back. This does nothing to help Gary's state of mind, and he thrusts harder, unable to control himself. Mark is unbelievably gorgeous like this, and it's all Gary can do to stop himself coming there and then. It's too soon, much too soon, and he wants to last just a little bit longer...

"I've been wondering about doing this since we first met," Mark tells him, the muscles in his arms taut as he increases his grip on the headboard. "I wondered what it'd be like, to have you fuck me..."

"Oh God, so have I... You're so perfect, Mark," Gary splutters, his eyes closed tightly as his climax builds. "I wish... I wish we could do this forever..."

In the end, it's Gary who comes first, burying his face into Mark's shoulder as shockwaves of pleasure rush through him. With a little shudder and a contented sigh, Mark comes too, his legs wrapped around Gary's waist. Gary collapses under his own weight and tries to slow his breathing down, Mark rubbing small circles on his back and panting his approval.

"I hope," Gary manages to get out once his lungs have recovered somewhat, "that was worth the wait."

"You have no idea, Gaz..." 

They talk nonsense for a little while afterwards, before the urge to sleep becomes too much for them to resist. Gary pulls the duvet up and over their bodies, whilst Mark turns off the lamp.

With one final kiss they're both gone, and it's the best night's sleep Gary's had in a worryingly long time.

* * *

  
**Saturday, December 8th, 1990**  
10:00  
Gary is first to wake. He's rested, alert and, most importantly, positive. He looks down at Mark, sleeping in his arms, and for the first time since they all started, he's legitimately grateful for the transport issues he's had. 

Shuddering at the thought of _what might've been_ , he pulls Mark closer and kisses him lightly on the forehead.

This wakes Mark straight away, and he gazes up at Gary, blinking away sleep.

"Hello," he says, sleepily, puckering his mouth for proper kiss which Gary is only too happy to provide. Unexpectedly, his eyes widen in alarm. "W'time is it? Your audition..."

"Shh, no, it's okay. It's just gone ten, I think. There's plenty of time before I have to go."

Mark relaxes, throwing one leg over Gary's waist in a move reminiscent of the night before, only much more innocent. They stay cuddled together like that for a good long while, maybe half an hour, before Gary interrupts the quiet.

"So... Why did Jason and Howard fall out, then?"

Rolling over so that they're properly face to face, Mark narrows his eyebrows. "Gary Barlow, were you eavesdropping on my private and confidential telephone conversation?"

Gary pauses for a split second before nodding. "Yep. Sorry."

"Ah, that's alright." Mark turns onto his back and locks his fingers behind his head. Gary takes this as his cue to be the one doing the snuggling up. "It's a long story. And not a particularly interesting one."

"Oh go on," Gary pleads, nuzzling his nose into Mark's armpit. "Please? We _have_ just spent the night together; I think that entitles me to a little bit of gossip about people I hardly know... C'mon, what did they fall out over?"

"Me."

The nonchalance of the reply temporarily knocks Gary for six. He knows he's laying there with his mouth hanging open, but he can't make his jaw function enough to close it.

"Don't look so horrified!" Mark gives him a squeeze. "Okay, I'll tell you what happened, as long as you promise to keep it to yourself."

"Of course!"

"It happened three months ago, when we all worked at Lotus. Howard and Jason were already there when I started, and Rob joined not long after. The manager has this way of... let's say, _removing_ people he doesn't like. He doesn't sack 'em, 'cause that would involve redundancy pay and all sorts, so he moves them out to one of his other franchises. That way they're not directly under his nose, but he keeps making money out of them. Which is what he did with the other three."

"So... he owns the hotel?"

"Yep, and the café in Beeston _and_ the bar we went to last night. He's got a lot of properties across the country. I can't tell you the number of times I've been somewhere and then found out later that it's part of his fucking empire."

Sitting up, Mark opens the top drawer of the bedside cabinet, this time bringing out a brand new packet of cigarettes and a silver lighter. He offers them to Gary (who refuses), before popping one between his lips.

"Anyway," he says, flicking the lighter open. "He hated Jason the most so he got rid of him first. And when he left, Jay wanted me to go with him so he could keep an eye on me, which Rob agreed with. But Howard said that was a daft idea, and that I should stay with him."

Gary changes his mind. He grabs Mark's hand and moves it toward own face. He doesn't smoke that often, but it's at moments like this that he tends to get the urge. He takes a long drag and blows the smoke up into the air. When he lets go, Mark does the same.

"Which did you choose?"

"Neither, which caused the argument. I don't need looking after; I'm fine on my own... And it didn't matter either way, 'cause not long after Jason went, Howard did too. He got angry over the way the Jason thing was handled – even though they weren't speaking to each other, he cared about him. And he still does, more than anything. They're a right pair, them two..." 

Mark's wistful smile fades as quickly as it had come. 

"A week after Jay left, Howard drank a little bit too much cooking sherry and mouthed off about everything in front of some high-paying customers, getting himself shipped out as well for his troubles. Rob didn't like being there without us, so he was planning to put in for a transfer. He got the boot before he could, but up until the last minute he protested that it was all his idea."

"But what did _you_ get moved for?"

Mark shifts his weight, taking several puffs of the cigarette before stubbing it out in an ashtray on the bedside cabinet.

"I didn't. Technically, I wasn't a real employee – I've always been freelance, like I said. Now, are we getting up or not?"

That, apparently, is where the conversation ends. Mark doesn't seem annoyed by Gary's interrogation. Far from it, in actual fact.

"What time's your audition?" he asks when his previous question goes unanswered.

"The guy on the phone... Bruce? He said to come down at lunchtime," Gary tells him.

"That'll be one o'clock, then. Nigel always eats on the dot of noon, and he takes bloody ages-" 

_Nigel_. Gary's been struggling to think of his name since he put the phone down in Frodsham.

"-so you've got a couple of hours before you have to leave."

That's nice to hear. Gary stretches out, and his muscles are grateful for it. As far as he can tell, he'd slept spooned around Mark for the whole night, both too exhausted to move. It might've been comfy at the time, but now he's paying the price.

"Good," he says, unable to hold back a yawn. "Thought I might do a bit more rehearsing on your piano before I go... If you don't mind, that is?"

"Knock yourself out. I've got to pop out in a little while this morning. In fact," Mark checks the clock by the side of the bed, "I'd better start getting myself together..."

Still naked, Mark kicks back the covers and gets to his feet. Gary leans over and smacks his arse playfully. "Come back to bed..."

"No!" Mark giggles, one knee up on the edge of the mattress. "I've got to get up. And what happened to practicing before you go? You want to do well, don't you?"

Pouting, Gary turns onto his back. "Yeah, but I'm gonna be sitting there, trying to remember my lyrics and picturing your bum instead. I'm horny..."

"Ooh, don't whinge, Gary. If you let me get ready, I promise to have victory _or_ commiseration sex with you afterwards, okay?"

Reluctantly, Gary concedes to this compromise.

It's coming up to eleven-thirty by the time he rolls out of bed and pads into the kitchen. He can hear Mark in the bathroom, humming to himself, and it's all he can do to not rush in there and join him.

 _No,_ he tells himself. _Be patient, man. You've got the promise of sex later, don't be needy!_

He's helping himself to another bowl of cornflakes when Mark saunters in, fresh from the shower. And oh wow, does he look good. The white trousers he's opted for seem like they're moulded to him, and his black v-neck t-shirt is showing a tantalising amount of skin. The unzipped leather jacket doesn't help matters.

For the second time that morning, Gary is frozen, his mouth gaping open like a fish. The spoon is half-way inside, drops of milk splashing back down into the bowl, rebounding and hitting him in the face. His eyes feel as if they've been stapled open. He tries to blink a few times, which doesn't work at all.

"Will you be able to find the club on your own?"

"Huh?"

"It's only down the road. Turn left at the traffic lights and you can't miss it."

"Er..."

"Hopefully my appointment won't take too long, then I should be done before you are. If not, there's a spare key in the drawer next to the fridge. Take it with you, and you can let yourself in if you're finished first. And good luck, babe."

Mark pecks him on the cheek, grabs a slice of rapidly cooling toast from the plate on the table, and is out of the door before Gary registers what's happened.

* * *

  
**12:45**  
Waiting is the worst part. The clock on the wall has an obnoxiously loud tick, making every second feel like an hour.

Bruce, Nigel's bouncer-slash-bodyguard, is a nice guy, contrary to the size of him. He'd greeted Gary at the door to the club, shown him into the little waiting area outside the office, and said it shouldn't be too long. Then he'd disappeared through a door and left him to wait.

It hasn't been that long, to be entirely fair; it's just felt that way. He's itching to play - suddenly inspired in ways he hasn't been for a long time.

Fortunately, it's a nice place to wait. Gary takes in his surroundings – he's got nothing else to do – and tries to figure out what Mark and his friends had been going on about. Maybe it's not the classiest club in the land, but he's been in worse. None of the chairs are broken, the floor isn't sticky underfoot, all of the lights work... That's good enough, isn't it?

On the stroke of one o'clock, the office door opens and finally the famous manager appears. He looks pretty much the same as Gary had expected him to: short, a little bit tubby and sort of... greasy. Slimy, perhaps, and almost as if there are things about him that you really wouldn't want to know. Gary tries not to let all of the hearsay cloud his judgement, however.

"You must be Gary," he says, extending a hand. "I'm Nigel. It's good to meet you. Please come in."

"I'm sorry about yesterday; the weather caused me all sorts of problems getting down here..."

They enter the office and sit down. Taking in his surroundings, Gary admires the paintings on the walls and the sleek furniture Nigel has chosen. It's a big room, and as there's no windows to let in any natural light, lamps of varying shapes and sizes are scattered throughout (Gary counts five in total). The chair he's in is comfortable, but not so much that he'd want to be in it for longer than a few minutes, which is probably the idea.

Nigel dismisses Gary's apology. "Don't worry, I understand! Thanks for keeping me informed – most people wouldn't bother. They expect me to be psychic or something, I don't know. Anyway, never mind all of that!" He leans forward, elbows on the desk and fingertips touching. "Your demo tape is excellent, Gary. Superb stuff, wasn't it?"

"Oh yeah, superb."

Alarmed, Gary spins in his seat. Bruce is lurking by the door, arms folded, no expression on his face.

"You're precisely what we're looking for here at The Lotus, I think you'd fit in perfectly. Tell me, have you ever worked in a club before?"

Daring to tear his eyes away from Bruce, Gary goes back to Nigel. "Yes, in Frodsham. I used to accompany a singer, and if he wasn't available for whatever reason then the manager would let me do some of my own vocals too."

"And you write your own material?"

Gary nods. "I do. I don't mind doing covers either. I'll play whatever people want to hear, as long as I know it." 

"I'd like to hear you play today," Nigel is up on his feet, "if you wouldn't mind giving me a little demonstration?"

Gary shakes his head and follows Nigel out of the office.

Before playing, he's given the full tour. First of what Mark had called 'the club'. Now he can sort of see what they had been getting at. Although it's not run-down or poorly looked after, there's a seedy air to the place, the same he'd felt in the Amber House Hotel. It's as if there are things going on behind the scenes, and, once again, Gary wouldn't be surprised if that were to be true.

In the centre of the room is a stage, which is bare apart from a rather expensive looking sound system. This must be where Jason and Mark used to dance, he guesses.

Then he's taken through to the lounge. It's much nicer in here, and Gary is impressed by the elegant piano – definitely a Steinway this time – which is standing in the middle of the stage. There's a small dancefloor in front of it, with ten or fifteen sets of tables and chairs positioned around the edges.

Nigel ushers him onto the stage and takes a seat near the back, Bruce lingering by his side. They have a rapid, hushed discussion, before Bruce nods and goes off through a door marked 'Private'.

"Whenever you're ready, Gary."

Taking a moment to acclimatise himself, Gary settles down and starts to play. First he does a short instrumental piece that he wrote when he was fourteen, and then, not able to help himself, he breaks out into one of his new songs. He forgets that he's doing an audition and finds himself in the flat - Mark's head on his shoulder, his breath tickling Gary's neck, and he's singing to Mark, saying everything he'd wanted to say last night but couldn't put into words...

Admittedly, Nigel's wild applause ruins the mood somewhat, positive sign or not.

As Gary finishes the last notes (reaching the high ones with ease, this time), Nigel is making his way over to the stage, nigh on frothing at the mouth in his excitement.

"Excellent, excellent! You're _exactly_ what we need here. How would you like to work for me?"

Gary finds it hard to contain his glee, despite the strange niggling in the back of his mind. "R-really? Oh God, yes! Thank you so much, Sir..."

Nigel chuckles loudly. "Call me Nigel, boy! Ideally I'd like you to start as soon as possible," he says. "Have you got accommodation down this way?"

Gary thinks of Mark and the flat. He smiles – he doesn't mean to, it just happens - and says he's staying with a friend for now.

"I can get you a place if you ever outstay your welcome there. You let me know and I'll get it sorted."

Gary can't believe this man could ever be described as a git. Or a bastard, a dickhead, a knob, or any of the other words he's heard recently, for that matter. He's known him for what, half an hour? And already he's offering to find him somewhere to live! Stammering his thanks, Gary steps down from the stage so that he can shake Nigel's hand.

They're getting into how long Gary has been playing the piano when Bruce comes through the door and hurries up to them.

"I found him," he says, out of breath. "He's in the office."

"Thanks Bruce," Nigel says. He looks at Gary and sighs. "And now I have to attend to some much more unpleasant business. One of my own employees has been stealing from me, if you can believe that. I don't know, you try to help some poor down-and-out and this is how they treat you in return."

Nigel says Gary will need to sign some paperwork before he starts working at the club, and they go to the office together. He asks him to wait outside whilst he deals with this reprobate, and Gary sits down to do so in high spirits. He can't wait to tell Mark all about the audition, and how his Nigel Stories were over the top.

"Right," he hears Nigel say, his voice dangerous. The door clicks behind him, then there's the sound of a key turning and being removed. "You know why you're here, don't you?"

The thief replies so quietly Gary can't make out what he says.

Nigel sighs. "I'm incredibly disappointed in you." Gary quite agrees with him. "When I checked my balance at the bank this morning, I couldn't believe how much of my money was missing. I gave you that credit card for emergencies _only_ , and you've been spending it on God knows what! It's unacceptable. I put a lot of time and effort into you, and this is how you repay me?"

This time, the muffled answer makes Nigel angry.

"I don't care!" he shouts, loud enough that the walls vibrate. "I pay you to make _me_ money, remember? And in return I make sure you've got a roof over your head and clothes on your back. You're nothing without me; don't forget that it was me who saved your sorry arse in the first place."

Another interruption, and this one sends Nigel over the edge.

"I don't want your fucking sob stories you little shit, I want my money! All of it!"

 _That's a bit harsh,_ Gary thinks, frowning. If the way he's laying into this bloke is any indication, maybe the others had been telling the truth about Nigel... Okay, he's got a right to be angry, but is screaming and insulting necessary? Surely he should phone the police, or dock his pay if he's feeling generous?

It all goes quiet, apart from Nigel's heavy breathing as he calms himself down. When he speaks next, he's much more composed. "You've been walking a fine line for a long time, my boy. Up until this point you've been lucky that I'm a reasonable man. But this? This is one step too fucking far." His tone is so mild, so smooth, and Gary almost misses the shouting. "We need to get this settled. You know it's for the best." 

"Nigel, please-" 

That voice, shrill and afraid... It sends a sharp pain through Gary's chest, and the sudden sinking feeling that he won't be able to do anything to help him is overwhelming.

"-I had to take the money, and I'll pay it all back straight away! Please... Let me explain, I can explain...!"

"It's too late for explaining, you know that. Look, I don't want to do this, but if you're not going to treat me with the respect I deserve, you have to suffer the consequences. It's what you agreed to when you signed the papers..."

"I didn't want-"

"It's not about what you want, is it? You work for _me_ , you do what _I_ want. And what I want right now is to settle the score."

A pause, and Gary feels sick. He knows what's coming before the words have left anyone's mouth.

"Ordinarily, I'd have Bruce here break both of your legs," Nigel says, slowly, "but as I want you back in one piece as soon as physically possible, I'll just go for the left one. Bruce?"

There's a scraping of a chair being pushed back, and heavy footsteps - Bruce's, by the sound of them - crossing the room.

"And make it quick, I've got to finish up with the new pianist and I don't want to be here all day."

Hearing Nigel say that snaps Gary out of his stupor and he stands up, ready to rush out into the bar so that he can find a telephone to call for help. If there are any members of staff out there, they'll most likely be terrified of what Nigel might do to them, so it's up to him... 

Half-way out of the waiting room, he freezes. He can't do this, who is he kidding? What's his plan after phoning the police? Is he going to hurl himself in there and wrestle Bruce to the ground? Or is he going to hover on the sidelines and shout _'stop it!'_ like a total wimp?

There's no time to worry about it.

Three things happen one after the other in rapid succession: a bang, a scream, and Gary frantically trying the handle of the door before he knows what he's doing. It is, of course, locked, so he takes as big a run up as he can and charges into it with his shoulder. It doesn't work the first time, so he tries again, and then again and again... Just when he thinks he's going to break several bones, the office door bursts open and he falls into the room.

Nobody seems to notice – except Mark.

"Gary!" he howls, reaching out towards him. He's on the floor, Bruce looming over him, gripping his leg in preparation for bending it into a horrifyingly unnatural position. Gary is shocked at how pale he is. "Help me, please!"

His shouting alerts the other two to Gary's presence, and Bruce stops to stare at him: the short blond kid who managed to shoulder a heavy, locked door down.

Whilst they're distracted, Mark passes out. Whether it's from pain or from fear, Gary is glad - he wouldn't want him to witness Bruce beating both of them to death.

Ignoring the part of his brain that's screaming at him to get out of there, Gary shoves Bruce to one side and kneels down next to Mark, checking that he's breathing. 

This angers Bruce. He straightens up and tries to reclaim his position by grabbing Gary's sore shoulder and pulling it sharply.

Without a second thought, Gary, with strength that he's long since forgotten he possesses, uses the arm that Bruce is tugging on to deliver a swift blow to his groin. He hasn't done any kind of martial arts in awhile, and Bruce being behind him softens the move a little. It's not the best he's ever dished out - no doubt his sensei would've admonished him for such sloppy technique - but it's enough.

Nigel's six foot, sixteen stone bodyguard goes down, writhing in pain. Gary hardly notices.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Nigel shouts, livid. He's still behind his desk, no longer sitting down.

"Shut up," Gary snarls, not moving from his position on the floor. He cups Mark's face in his hands, making sure that not a hair on his head has been hurt. "Mark?" he whispers to no response. "Markie, it's gonna be okay. I'm here."

"Don't do something you'll regret," Nigel warns. "Don't ignore me!"

Gary ignores him. Nigel scoffs.

"You don't know who you're dealing with. I'm stronger than you, boy, stronger and cleverer than you'll ever be. And your precious little mate _Markie_?" Nigel laughs, so cruel that it's basically a cackle. "The dirty little thief isn't worth saving. You're much too good for him."

Gary bristles as he continues to try and wake Mark up. They need to get out of there so that he can be checked over by a doctor, but there's no sign of consciousness. Nigel, however, is unfortunately very much awake and in full flow. 

"You could go far in this business, Gary. You could be someone, and I could help you."

Doing everything in his power to ignore him, Gary carefully prises Mark's eye open to see if it'll get a reaction. Nothing.

"You do know what he does, don't you?"

Gary doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't need to hear it. Somehow he knows he's going to hear it regardless.

"He's just a common _whore_."

As he speaks, Nigel starts to come out from behind his desk.

"Don't you dare fucking move, or I'll do the same to you that I did to your friend over there."

Stopping to glance at Bruce - who is curled up in a tiny ball, groaning and clutching his crotch - Nigel says, "You think a karate chop to the bollocks is enough to stop me?"

Gary twists around and glares at him. "Yeah, I do as it happens." 

This is enough to make Nigel shrink against the wall behind him in fear of being next in the receiving line for one of Gary's moves.

"If I catch you anywhere near him again, I'll do much worse than _a karate chop in the bollocks_ , believe me."

At this, Nigel makes a sound along the lines of a whimper, but Gary pays him no attention. He's not worth any more of their time.

Instead, he picks Mark up – he's nowhere near as light as he looks, although that's mostly because he's not up to supporting his own weight – and goes to leave. Before he does, Gary takes one last look at Nigel.

"I don't care what he does," he says, spitting the words in his ashen face. "It doesn't change who he is. And I happen to _love_ who he is."

With that, he stalks out of the office, out of the club, and into the afternoon light.

* * *

  
**14:00**  
"Gary, I'm not... I'm not a dancer..." 

"Shh, I know." 

"I'm..." 

"I know, it's okay." 

"I lied to you... I'm sorry... I couldn't tell you the truth..."

"You don't have t- Hello? Yes, I need an ambulance!"

The dispatcher on the other end of the phone, whose calmness only serves to get Gary more worked up, asks for more details. He gives her their names and the address, and launches into the symptoms.

"It's my... my friend," Gary garbles, squeezing Mark's hand as he drifts out of consciousness again. "Someone was trying to hurt him, and he fainted and I think he hit his head really hard on the ground... I'm worried he might have a concussion or something."

She runs through the basic procedure, getting Gary to check his breathing and for blood. Gary does what he's told, trying not to stress over how long everything is taking.

"He needs to be checked over straight away!"

"Don't panic yourself love, that'll make things worse," she says. "I've dispatched an ambulance, but whilst it's on the way there are a few things I need you to do. Is Mark comfortable and warm?"

Gary touches Mark's forehead. "He's cold, but he's on the sofa."

"And the address you gave me, is that a safe location?"

"It's his flat. But they know where he lives so I don't know if they'll come here or... We need to get out of here."

"In that case, I'll have to inform the police of the situation." He hears her tapping away at her keyboard. "I want you to cover Mark with a blanket. Keep talking to him if you can, and check his breathing regularly. The most important thing is that you stay with him. Can you do that for me, Gary?"

What, did she expect him to run away? There might've been a fleeting moment at the club where he'd considered it, but not now. He'd never be able to live with himself.

The next fifteen minutes pass in a blur. The paramedic and ambulance technician come up to the flat, take one look at Mark – who is lolling on the sofa, Gary crouched next to him on the floor – and immediately start discussing getting him to the nearest hospital. The taller bloke drops to his knees and prods at Mark, trying to get him to open his eyes or say something.

"Mark? Can you hear me?" he asks, sighing as he checks Mark's pulse. "I'd hoped we wouldn't be seeing you for awhile... Can you pass me that pupil torch, Sid?"

Not wanting to be in the way, Gary rushes into the bedroom, finds a small suitcase, and packs it. Some clothes, underwear, a couple of pairs of shoes and some toiletries are all hurled in, getting crumpled beyond belief. He doesn't know what he's throwing in there, and he doesn't care.

By the time he's finished and is lugging the case into the living room, the ambulance crew have finished with their assessment and are putting Mark, blanket and all, onto a stretcher.

"C-can I come in the ambulance?" he asks. "I want to be with him at the hospital."

"Are you his partner?" Sid, the shorter, stockier one, asks. He lifts up one end of stretcher whilst his colleague takes the other.

Gary shakes his head. "Not... not really. But... please?"

They look at one another and shrug. "All the same to us, mate," the taller one says, cheerfully. "You'd better lock up for him, too. Don't want him getting broken into whilst he's off getting sorted."

 _It doesn't matter - he's never, ever coming back here!_ Gary thinks, but he follows them out of the flat and locks the door behind him.

* * *

  
**19:00**  
In the ambulance, Mark had come to, albeit fleetingly.

The paramedic, Jim, was a jolly bloke. He'd asked Mark several questions – if he knew his name, where he was, how he got in such a mess – and Mark had answered them all with varying levels of precision.

Then Jim had pointed to Gary. "And who's this?"

Through a haze of morphine, Mark had said, "Oh, that's Gaz," before closing his eyes again.

He'd briefly opened them a few times in the three hours they were at the hospital. Every time, he'd looked at Gary and smiled, before realising where he was and panicking.

The next time it happens, he's in bed, Gary dozing next to him. It's not late but it's been a long day, and the constant worrying hasn't helped. Once the medication wears off Mark is going to be fine, according to the doctors. No permanent damage that they can detect. All being well, he should be back to normal fairly soon.

They did go back to the flat after all, but only once Gary had argued with everyone at the hospital about it. They'd assured him that everything would be sorted out, and the safest place for them was behind a locked door. The police had already arrested Nigel and Bruce, so there was no reason for him to fret, they'd said. Gary wasn't so sure, but in the end he was too tired to dispute it, and accepted the lift offered to them.

When he'd put Mark to bed, Gary had been tempted to crawl under the covers and join him. Instead he'd settled for sitting up against the headboard, the decorative ridges digging uncomfortably into his spine. 

They've been like this for hours, and he knows that he'll regret it later, but for now it's worth it to have Mark sleeping peacefully beside him.

Mark gasps when he comes to, waking Gary up at once. When he looks, Mark has his eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling. He's shaking.

"Nigel..." he says, trying to sit up.

Gary doesn't let him. "Don't worry about Nigel, he's not getting anywhere near you." He's delivered this speech so many times that he doesn't have to think of the words. "You're safe, I promise."

After Mark falls asleep again, Gary untangles himself so he can get up. His back is killing him, and he decides that Mark should be okay for a few minutes so he can walk about and stretch his aching muscles.

He presses a kiss to Mark's forehead, tells him that he won't be long, and leaves the room to use the telephone in the kitchen.

"C'mon, answer..."

The line crackles and a familiar voice answers. "Hello?"

"It's me."

His mother sounds relieved. "Oh, thank God! Are you alright? We were a bit worried when you didn't call." Gary can tell that _a bit worried_ is an understatement. Pacing up and down by the phone is more like it. "How did it go?"

Not wanting to be away from Mark for too long, Gary launches into a rapid rendition of the events of the past two days, leaving out some of the more sordid details, although he doesn't hold back in his vitriol towards Nigel. Marge gasps when he reaches the bit about Bruce. 

"Is Mark going to be okay?"

"He needs to sleep the medication off and he'll be fine."

"What happens then?"

Gary sighs. "No idea. We can't stay here for much longer, that's obvious. They were arrested, but that doesn't mean we're safe. I, erm... I was going to come home."

"That'll be nice," she says, trying to hide the delight in her voice. Gary catches it with ease. "And what will Mark do?"

"I-I wondered if..." Gary feels like a kid seeking permission for his mate to come over to tea. "If he could come and stay with us."

"Oh Gary, I'm not sure. You've only known him five minutes, and if what you've told me is true..."

"I know, but... Mum, he's amazing."

As he starts to fill his Mum in on all of Mark's best qualities, Gary's heart beats faster and his breath quickens, ecstatic to be able to tell someone how he feels. (Again, he gives her an abridged version.)

And his mum, ever-rational, listens carefully, working through the deluge of information he's given her. It's a lot to take in, he realises that, but he hopes that she'll be as accepting as she usually is.

After an agonisingly long pause, she says: "I can't say I approve of his job, but if he makes my boy happy then I'll give him a chance."

Gary _is_ happy - so happy he could cry. "I can bring him home with me, then? If he agrees, that is."

"Of course you can, love. D'you want Dad to come and pick you up?"

Gary considers his options. He remembers fondly the adventure he's had with Mark. On one hand it's been frustrating and stressful, and on the other it's been the most fun he's ever had in his life...

"Yes please," he says, after thinking it over for approximately two seconds. "We'd appreciate that."

* * *

  
**23:30**  
Mark is awake and talking normally, sitting up in bed and leaning against Gary's shoulder.

"What'll happen with Nigel?" he asks, and when he raises his head Gary notices the panic in his eyes. "He'll be so angry... I took all that money from him and that was wrong, no matter what. I was just pissed off with always following his bloody rules and never getting to do anything on my own terms, and I wanted to get my own back, and at the same time I wanted to help you..."

Gary shushes him, repositioning them so that he's got both arms around Mark, holding him close.

"There's nothing to get yourself worked up about - at least not at the moment. The police went to the club and nicked him _and_ Bruce, remember? We might have to go to court to give evidence, but the police said they'll go away for what they've done."

He says all of this without fully believing it. Gary isn't stupid. He knows someone like Nigel will have a network of goons ready to do his bidding, and he'll have no problem deploying them from inside a prison cell. Gary doesn't voice any of these fears. It's not worth frightening Mark any more than he already is.

"He's got others, you know," Mark says, solemnly. "Bruce isn't the only one... They could come after us. Both of us. And I don't want you getting hurt, because of me or because of anything else."

"Which is why I'm going home."

Mark frowns. "Oh." He forces himself to look positive, and Gary can tell he doesn't mean it. "That's good! You _should_ go home, Gary."

"You can come with me, if you want. I mean," Gary clears his throat, "I want you to come with me. And my Mum says we can stay there for as long as necessary. But it's up to you, Markie. Whatever you want to do. I'll understand if you'd rather go somewhere else."

 _He'd probably be safer with Howard or Jason,_ Gary thinks. _Or Robbie, if he didn't live so close to here._

For a good minute, Mark mulls the suggestion over. He goes through so many expressions that it's hard to keep up with them all. Gary waits, holding Mark's hand in his own, watching his face carefully and praying that he'll come to the same conclusion.

Mark squeezes Gary's fingers, a real smile spreading across his tired face.

"I'd like to come with you," he says, his voice thick with emerging tears. Gary fights valiantly to not let his own emotions get the better of him. "As long as I wouldn't be imposing... I wouldn't want to get in the way."

"Don't be ridiculous, my Mum can't wait to meet you."

"You told her about me?" asks Mark, his bottom lip now held firmly between his teeth. It's awful seeing him like that, nervous and ashamed when he has no reason to be. "And what I do?"

"No, I told her about what you _used_ to do," Gary corrects him. "She's willing to give you the same chance that I did." He takes hold of Mark's chin. "I don't care about any of that stuff. It's not important. When we met, I didn't even know. And now that I do, I feel exactly the same way."

There's a tear rolling down Mark's cheek. Gary wipes it away with his thumb and keeps going.

"I don't know if I could say that I love you, Mark, but... I'm definitely falling for you. And that's more than enough for me."

Once again, Mark breaks out into a smile. He nods. "Me too."

"That's alright, then," Gary says, giving Mark a triumphant kiss. "We'd better get some more of your stuff packed. I did make a start on it, but I'm sure you won't like what I picked out for you... Not much in the way of pants, as I'm sure you can appreciate."

Mark's grin turns into a smirk. "I bet."

"So, er... Are you going to pack, then?"

"What's the hurry?"

Gary gives him a sheepish look. "My Dad's on his way down to pick us up. He'll be here fairly soon, by the way he drives."

"Oh _Gaz_!" Mark whines, throwing the covers off. "I wish you'd told me that sooner, rather than letting me lounge around like a prat!"

He gets out of bed and starts opening drawers, but not before Gary pulls him back down to prove the whole 'definitely falling in love' idea once and for all.

* * *

  
**Aftermath**  
Mark and his five suitcases did end up going home with Gary (sadly, the Steinway had to be left behind). Travelling back to Frodsham with his Dad asking a million and one questions, Gary had done most of the talking, with Mark preferring to sleep against him in the back seat.

His Mum, of course, loved Mark straight away. She insisted on making him a huge tea, despite the fact that they didn't arrive at the house until three in the morning. Then she ushered them into the spare bedroom, where she'd provided clean towels and fresh linen on the double bed.

They slept soundly that night, Gary holding Mark close to him and refusing to let go, even if he tried to wriggle away. He wasn't planning on letting go any time soon.

The next morning, they talked about what they were going to do. Gary promised to do whatever it took to get things sorted out, which was the push Mark needed. Despite being terrified of facing Nigel in court, he agreed to go through the necessary procedures to get him put away.

Two months later, they set up a performance duo named Lotus, partly as a not-so-subtle _fuck you_ to Nigel, but also in honour of the reason they met. Now they travel across the country, performing in pubs and clubs, sticking to reputable ones this time. The addition of their own car has helped them a lot, even if they do spend a considerable amount of time at the side of the road with the bonnet up (which always prompts Gary to launch into the story about "that bloody Rover!"). Mark knows even less than Gary does about fixing cars, but they've never been late to a gig yet.

Gary makes sure that Mark keeps in contact with Jason, Howard and Robbie, ordering him to phone them all from their new flat twice a week. They're all doing much better now that they're back to being friends, and Mark has made plans for him and Gary to go and visit them once the season has slowed down a little.

All in all, they're happy with what they've got. They have their arguments, like all couples do, but it's never too bad that it can't be solved with a nice cup of tea and a lengthy cuddle in bed. 'Cuddle', of course, being a euphemism for something much more exhilarating.

It's not the most glamorous lifestyle, but they're safe and in charge of their own lives, which is all they care about.

And if they're ever asked how they got together, they look at one another, smile, and say, in unison:

"Well, it all started at the airport..."

_End._


End file.
